


all i can taste (is this moment)

by SheWhoWalksUnseen



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, ColdFlash Big Bang 2020, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Mutual Pining, Seriously Ignore The Logistics of The Family Trees For My Sake and Your Own...Please, frank talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoWalksUnseen/pseuds/SheWhoWalksUnseen
Summary: It began, as the stories tell, and always would, with an errand.Or, Barry is Hermes, Leonard is Hades, and neither is Persephone. It makes all the difference.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Lisa Snart, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Leonard Snart & Lisa Snart
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103
Collections: Coldflash Bang 2020





	all i can taste (is this moment)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling to write this fic since I first got into Coldflash, so when I say this fic is a long time coming... this fic is a _loooooooooong_ time coming, folks. I've had this in a Google doc for about two years now. Thankfully, I finally got a chance to hunker down and write this idea with the Coldflash Bang this year!
> 
> For clarification first and foremost, before you read on:
> 
> \- Neither Barry nor Leonard are Persephone. This is still a Hades & Persephone myth retelling because, to be frank, I'm far more interested in a different dynamic. No offense to Persephone, of course. Her story is very different here.
> 
> \- All characters are referred to by their Greek deity names, though I think I made it clear which was which through description and dialogue (i.e. Lewis is Zeus, Iris is Artemis, etc.)
> 
> \- Yes, I know these family trees aren't quite how Greek mythology is laid out, and yes, I know most of the gods were very into sleeping with whomever they wanted, including their own siblings. No siblings shall be slept with during this fic. Don't think too hard about it. This is an AU for a reason.
> 
> \- I have to give credit to coldtomyflash on Tumblr and whoever originally submitted and sparked the original idea ages ago with their moodboard [here](https://areyouscarletcold.tumblr.com/post/173456154642/there-was-another-reason-that-hermes-went-often-to), and I only wish I managed to get this out earlier so I didn't see it every now and then and scream over how badly I wanted to write this. 
> 
> Also, there is lovely art for this fic that [wyntersriddle](https://wyntersriddle.tumblr.com/) made featuring the three main characters down below! Thank you so much for collaborating with me on this!
> 
> I made a playlist as well for this fic that you may listen to, if you'd like [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7pSTfBNNncXjskniOvkOBI?si=W4ZorD8dRPC89k96vRev-A).
> 
> And without further ado, please read and enjoy.
> 
> title comes from "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls.

_[ Lovely art of Hermes (Barry), Persephone (Lisa), and Hades (Leonard) by[wyntersriddle ](https://wyntersriddle.tumblr.com/) / [SanguineQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanguineQueen/pseuds/SanguineQueen) ]_

***

It began, as the stories tell, and always would, with an errand.

The god of messengers bore little love for his job some days, but aside from the occasional trick on a god or nymph, or two, Hermes rather enjoyed his trips to the Underworld. He wasn’t the only god in charge of guiding souls, of course, and he wasn’t a god of _death_. But there was a strange routine to the journey to the Underworld, letting amorphous souls trail behind him in a stream of white fog as he assured them they were close, they were almost there now, they’d almost arrived at eternity!

The latter sounded far too optimistic for what they’d actually find: a wasteland of blackened earth, the dead milling for miles and miles in endless directions, and a structure in the distance that was more fortress than dark palace.

Eternity was a strange concept to a god, especially one as young as Hermes. He liked to think he knew death better than most of the gods could fathom, and yet all he found was fascination with it. A morbid fascination, that he would admit freely, but nonetheless it made him curious.

The chill settled in first, clinging to his otherworldly form, despite his lack of humanity, in clawed fingers that seized his limbs and allowed the cold to worm its tangled way through his bones. The air down there was false, pyrite for the lungs, infesting and choking those who dared venture away from the world of the living. Stillness would suffocate and drain them as a leech would until the poor souls joined the ever-growing sea of the dead.

Thankfully, Hermes was no mortal man. And he had reason to visit the Underworld many times before, guiding and watching shapeless ghosts solidify the deeper they walked into this dark corner of hell.

Hell wasn’t nearly as kind of a word as he’d prefer, but he’d seen the way the other gods avoided all talk or visits to the Underworld, disgust and faint fear in their stares whenever he tried to bring up a recent visit in conversation. Only a couple could stand to hear him speak of the Underworld, and even then it was with strained smiles and undeniable sorrowful glinting behind shuttered gazes.

There was something hollow in death that terrified the mortal souls he usually brought - not the stench that filled the air, not the loneliness or uncertainty that came from the unknown, for mortals always pondered too much too long on their trip down below, but the frigid atmosphere, the ever-present reminder of their ghostly selves and the lives they’d lost, was what frightened them every time.

Hermes didn’t find it so frightening. Of course, he couldn’t die and gods bore little fear down here. But though his trips were brief, he didn’t think the cold or the lack of air or even the persistent darkness that played with his vision like a cat toying with a mouse were necessarily _bad_ things. Sure, the whole torture aspect for hellish souls and the idea of potentially leading the dead to Tartarus were too extreme for his tastes, but the dead had to go _somewhere_. Things couldn’t always be bright and sunny, even if most humans pictured a world of sunshine and never-ending bottles of wine and ambrosia when they kicked the bucket.

Hermes had always thought Hades seemed lonely, if he was honest. Both the place and the god himself.

Stepping onto the palace grounds now, a mass of overgrown weeds and long-past-browning grass, he couldn’t help but wonder if that loneliness had gotten the better of Hades in the end. Something in his not-so-human chest ached distantly at the thought, and he had to swallow hard to stifle the guilt rising. Perhaps that was why he dreaded this errand (though he really didn’t _want_ to call it an errand) the most.

“You,” a low voice came from behind, “are not supposed to be here.”

Speaking of loneliness.

Hermes spun on his heel, and blinked hard at the narrow-eyed glare pinning him in place. The woman wore her brown curls pinned back from her face, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and pursed lips as she stared up at him, arms folded across her chest. Dressed in the finest of robes, ebony and gold, with a simple tie around her waist, she had never looked more stunning.

He didn’t need to spy the flowers in her hair - a variety of carnations and lilies and others he never bothered learning the names of - or smell the fresh breeze wafting off her skin, the _only_ clear air in this dark realm, to know her name. After all, no flowers could thrive in the Underworld. No life could.

Still, the wave of relief that he’d anticipated didn’t quite come. It was hard to feel anything but uneasy in the face of such unconcealed irritation.

Or maybe it was the itching thought that refused to flourish in the back of his mind, murmuring that Zeus wouldn’t be the only one he angered if he did not tread lightly.

“Persephone,” he said and forced himself not to cringe when her eyes narrowed further. He plastered the politest smile he could manage on his features. “It’s good to see you.”

“What do you want?” He’d never heard her speak to him so coldly before. Granted, they had only met a few times on Olympus, and usually during a feast with heapings of food and wine between them, but he’d grown rather fond of her bright smile, the easy lilt to her voice. She seemed kind, if not mischievous and willing to play tricks on some of the gods who undermined her (which he admittedly had been drawn to; he wasn’t the god of thieves for nothing). He’d thought they were becoming friends, at the very least.

Then again, a kidnapping _would_ burst your bubble, he supposed.

“I’ve been sent here to help…” He bit back a grimace. “Well, to fix things. As I’m sure you can guess.”

She snorted. “Fix things?”

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

“I bet the old man put you up to this. Hmm?”

Hermes sighed. “Your father means well. Everyone misses you - the humans, the earth, the gods. Things have been rather bleak. And gray. Harvests dying and such.”

Her irritation faltered, but only for a moment. She inclined her head to meet his gaze, a challenge, a show to flaunt an insistent _see how you can’t break me?_ The curl to her lips told of defiance.

“I hardly think that’s my fault. He’s always enjoyed throwing temper tantrums when things don’t go his way.”

Hermes didn’t consider nearly a month of storms, raging across both the sky and the earth, as well as the death of crops and oncoming harvest (and you knew things were bad when _Demeter_ was enraged and grieving) a childish temper tantrum, but to each their own. After all, it wasn’t Persephone’s fault that she’d gotten the short end of the stick in this scenario.

There it was again, that stab of guilt. And a faint hint of disappointment that wasn’t quite directed at her.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, her expression sobered. Not by much, but it was enough to give him hope. She crossed her arms over her chest and the earth at her feet darkened, as if her gloom were seeping through the soil. “Funny. It took you long enough to come. Or were you just stalling for time, cowering up on your golden palace?”

“We didn’t know where you went,” he admitted, ignoring the jab. “Zeus was convinced you’d run, Demeter thought you’d been imprisoned by a mortal or maybe Ares… It was a mess. It was hard to fathom where you could be.” He bit his lip. “No one thought - No one _suspected_ that Hades would be the culprit.”

She shut her eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here, Hermes.”

“Neither are you.”

Her lips twisted and something unreadable, maybe amusement, maybe disdain, flickered back at him behind her eyes. “Says you.”

“Are you not the least bit happy to see me?” he couldn’t resist asking, more than a little put off by her behavior. She didn’t seem afraid for him - either against Hades or Zeus or even Demeter - and he wasn’t sure why she kept up this game if she really was so angry. 

_Angry at_ him _, though?_ he could not help but wonder. _Or someone else?_

Persephone scoffed. “Happy? Why would I be happy to know that the errand boy of the gods came down here to drag me back to the surface over a spat because Zeus pretends he misses his ‘favorite’ daughter? Which is a laugh, considering that he didn’t give a damn every other time I’ve wandered off.”

“He was worried for your safety?” Hermes tried. Recalling Zeus’s seething up above, however, the words snarled like vitriol about ungrateful gods and children, did put a damper on Hermes’s own words. “Kidnapping a goddess is a big deal.”

“Sure, when it’s your daughter who’s run away,” she snorted again, disgust bleeding onto her features the more worked-up she became. “And to the god of the dead for help, of course. What a scandal. What a tragedy. Even when he’s the only _rational-minded_ god around here!”

“You...do realize that kidnapping isn’t a rational plan.”

Persephone shook her head. “There _is_ no kidnapping, Hermes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“So, what, you simply _decided_ to come live in the Underworld for the time being?”

“Yes.”

Any remaining sarcasm died on his tongue at her tone. He knew that determined fury in her eyes, knew it well from his days of playing with Artemis and Apollo as a child, when the goddess of the hunt would stare him down every time he not-so-cleverly swiped some of her arrows to fiddle around with.

(And really, what was the big deal? An arrow was nothing compared to sacred cattle - and boy, had Apollo been pissed about _that_ , even though he’d been an _infant_ and it was one time! He’d even given the other god that lyre to calm him down!

And humans thought _their_ lives were complicated.)

It was strange how the relief he’d longed for, just a small flare deep in his chest, started to blossom, overwhelming any remnants of disappointment and bone-tired frustration. If this wasn’t a kidnapping as Zeus had declared…

Then that meant…

He didn’t have all the facts, he had to remind himself, but Hermes had to resist the urge to smile anyway.

It was an entirely inappropriate reaction, he _knew_ that. He did. 

But he still remembered the way Zeus and Demeter stiffened when a passing nymph had broken the news, confessing to seeing a chariot black as night, the earth splitting in two, and a grim gleam in the eyes of the lord of the Underworld as he snatched up Persephone from the field she was lying in. The fear in Demeter’s eyes and immediate fury and thunderous cries from Zeus as he leapt from his throne, spitting curses and demanding for Hermes to do something at _once_ before he fought the god himself.

Hermes hadn’t been quite able to reconcile that image of the chariot, the kidnapping in broad daylight, _all of it honestly_ , with the same god who he occasionally spied watching him on his rounds to the Underworld. The same god who smirked when a spirit or two grew particularly clingy or weepy toward Hermes’ inevitable departure and fired a snarky reply across the endless ghostly queues when Hermes gave him his usual glare. 

Hades was callous and sometimes dismissive and harsh in the face of his visits, but he was never _cruel_ and kidnapping hadn’t struck Hermes as some hidden set of skills Hades had been waiting to unveil.

And yes, there was that loneliness Hermes suspected beneath his cold facade, the practiced way the god sometimes held himself back from interacting with Hermes or even the dead when he did come out of his palace to watch. He’d never admit to it, but Hermes thought he saw a glimpse of longing from time to time, amidst the sneers and cold remarks. Longing for company, perhaps, he mused.

But loneliness and solitude didn’t equal kidnapping _Zeus’_ _daughter_ for your own selfish wants and desires. The goddess of _springtime_ , of all people too - when had Hades ever given any indication he bore interest toward her?

Beneath it all, though, the unease from earlier still lingered like a bad stomach ache. Whether it was born from his confusion or the idea of a situation much worse than the gods had planned for, Hermes had a sneaking assumption his relief would be short-lived. 

Hermes glanced at the doors to the palace and stepped closer to Persephone. “Forgive me for asking, but...why?”

Her jaw clenched. “I believe that’s none of your business.”

It was his turn to scoff. “I’m not the god of mischief for nothing, I _know_ something is wrong. And please don’t tell me this is some elaborate way to spite your father because - ”

“Because Hades is cruel and loves no one and cares little for even the dead he rules over?” Her eyes grew darker with anger. “Yes, I clearly have no regard for my safety.”

Hermes frowned and drew back an inch, hurt by her defensiveness. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Listen, I _know_ Hades. He would not go against Zeus without good reason, and if this kidnapping - or _whatever_ this is - wasn’t his idea, then it was surely yours and you are far from reckless. Not without good reason.”

“And I suppose _you_ would know all about recklessness.” At least she sounded more teasing and less indignant this time. He cast her a small smile and it did seem to ease the tension in her shoulders, just a smidge.

“You wound me. Truly.”

“Artemis did always like to talk about your exploits both on Olympus and on Earth. Amazing how many times one can get in trouble for sneaking down to the human villages under Zeus’ watch.”

“That was _one_ \- ” Persephone raised an eyebrow and the lie died on his tongue. Damn it. That was the last time he told _Artemis_ anything. “I’ll have you know that I was younger then.”

“Sure. It’s just your official duty now, is that it? ‘Messenger of the gods’ and all?”

“That isn’t why I have this job.”

Her eyes grew wide in disbelief, the only sign of her teasing twitching at the corner of her mouth ever-so-slightly. “What, you mean you _don’t_ like playing the role of errand boy?”

“‘Errand boy’ is _not_ my job,” he corrected her, though he couldn’t deny that there were days where he tried not to grumble and gripe about his duties to Zeus’ face. Particularly when the king of the gods was in a foul mood or wanted him to hide his newest sexual trysts from his wife. Again. The reason for this whole trip was _technically_ an errand too, but he didn’t want to think about that. “And don’t think I can’t tell you’re trying to change the subject.”

“This isn’t your business, Hermes.” 

“It _is_ my business. Literally.” Hermes groaned and tapped his caduceus on the ground beside his feet, not that she needed any reminding of who she was talking to. “And I’m supposed to take you back.”

“Not going to happen. We both know you’re going to run off to my father either way, and I’m sure he’ll be all too happy to see me. Or not.”

Hermes blinked. “You really want to stay here.”

Any trace of amusement flickered out across her features like the weak, dying flame of a candle. Persephone closed the distance between them, not bothering to hide her open scrutiny once more as she scanned his face. He couldn’t guess what she was searching for. Anger? Contempt?

“Is that so hard to believe?” Her murmur was soft, deceptively gentle in contrast to her knife-sharp stare.

“Well,” Hermes hesitated and cast a look out over the fields beyond the gardens, beyond the palace, to the wandering souls and the gleaming lights of Elysium. He supposed it was beautiful in a haunting way of its own, despite the darkness and the stench of death, but the idea of _Persephone_ , the goddess of spring and flowers and _life_ thriving in the Underworld was strange.

Not _bad_ , necessarily. Or horrifying, like some might assume. Just strange.

Life and death were a sort of balance, if you thought about it, and maybe there was supposed to be a harmony between them so this arrival of life in the Underworld might not be as terrible and wretched as Zeus ranted and raved about up on Olympus and -

It wasn’t a bad idea.

With Persephone this close, he could see the flowers woven in her hair blooming wider and brighter even in the dark, the returning green of the grass between her bare feet a stark surprise amidst the long-dead earth. She almost looked healthy - an irony that did not escape his notice - in comparison to the last time he’d seen her, with sweat-slicked skin and bags forming under her eyes from tending to the earth in the throes of relentless summer heat.

Oh.

The heat. Summer. 

Her exhaustion.

He felt a little ridiculous (and sheepish, if he was being honest) when her brow crinkled, as if she could hear his train of thought loud and clear due to their proximity.

If Hades hadn’t proposed the idea of a kidnapping, or at least running off with her, as she had said, then he could start to see the beginnings of _her_ plan take shape. And he couldn’t blame Persephone, if he was right, though there was something to be said about galavanting to the Underworld with the god of death without warning _somebody_ and he did have to agree that it wasn’t the wisest decision to let Earth just shrivel up and die. But that was Demeter’s choice too, which Persephone had no control over but really, at least one of them or _Hades_ should have known -

“ _Persephone_.” 

The glacial drawl caused Hermes to freeze (no pun intended) where he stood. Persephone relaxed, her shoulders drooping as she muttered something under her breath about overprotectiveness. He couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or…

Well.

He’d say _speak of the devil_ , but Hermes wasn’t sure if the term _devil_ applied here. Particularly since mortal misconceptions had come up with some rather odd images, associating him with horns and a tail and all sorts of fun appendages.

In reality, Hades himself bore none of the above.

Maybe it was his attempt to play with the whole ever-present twilight aspect of the Underworld (all the better to sneak up on people, Hermes couldn’t help but note) but Hades seemed to always be dressed in mourning colors. Black robes draped over his form in liquid obsidian, suiting his long limbs nicely and creating a contrast to his much paler skin. With high cheekbones and piercing, dark eyes gleaming in what little light shone from torches alongside the garden path, he gave the appearance of a shadow itself, lurking and flitting back and forth where the eye could not detect his presence, a hunger Hermes could not name playing tricks behind his stare.

Hermes always felt anxious around Hades, though not for the typical reasons other gods gave such as “he’s a solitary, cruel man” or “he opened up the earth and swallowed my three nymph daughters that one time”. You had to appear numb, unafraid when it came to death, or at least not as frightened of it, especially when you led souls to the Underworld for a living. Besides, gods couldn’t die, so that was a whole issue out the window right there.

He _should_ be afraid of Hades. This time, at the very least - tales of the god’s temper when foolish mortals and demigods stole from his realm were countless. It was an unspoken rule: _don’t mess with the gods’ belongings_.

(Not that Persephone was a _belonging_! Because she would’ve tried to turn him into a dandelion if he’d said that out loud, and it wasn’t true, _clearly_ , but he was making a point and -

Anyway.)

Something about Hades’ stare and the small smirk he usually bore that grew when Hermes caught a glimpse of said stare made his skin do _something_ he couldn’t name, and that ache in his chest itched and burned.

Persephone turned, placing her hands on her hips, a playful smile on her lips. If she thought it would placate the god, she was sorely disappointed; his usual smirk was nowhere in sight and he didn’t take his eyes off of Hermes and his caduceus, as if Hades were afraid he’d vanish the moment he turned away. “You said you’d be busy with judgment over lost souls for another ten minutes, at _least_.”

“Didn’t know we had company.” The frigidity of his tone sent a shiver up Hermes’ spine. It reminded him eerily of Persephone’s earlier ire.

“I was just welcoming our guest.” Her smile tightened and Hermes swore the flowers in her hair started to wither. With a start, he realized the shiver he’d felt might not have been unwarranted; frost spread over the dead flowers, slowly but surely, a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the usual atmosphere thickening in the short silence between them. “Though, I think no introductions are necessary.”

“Clearly not, since you two seem to know one another well.”

Persephone rolled her eyes and she crossed her arms over her chest, all pretense flying out the window. “You have your skeleton friends, and I have mine.”

He wanted to laugh but Hades was still watching him and he got the feeling laughter might not be the best idea in the face of death - literal _Death_ with a capital D, that is.

Hades stepped out of the shadows fully and the cold worsened enough that frost started to gather on the wings of Hermes’ sandals despite a good shake of his leg. The god drew closer as he spoke, gaze fixed on Hermes. “Do your _friends_ often act on orders from Zeus in your best interest?”

Persephone faltered and Hermes sighed, taking a chance and spreading his arms in what he hoped came off as a non-threatening and peaceful gesture. “I mean you no harm, truly. I was just saying to Persephone - ”

“I don’t need pleasantries,” Hades cut in, his jaw clenching. “I know why you’re here, dawdling nearby but not daring to confront me in my own realm. For a thief and a liar, you excel at neither art, _Hermes_.”

He could feel his cheeks coloring as he bit back a retort. Despite his sneers, confronting Hades outright was a fool’s move, even he knew that. Gods forbid he try to be _reasonable_ and talk his way out of a situation.

“I am not aiming to steal from or lie to you,” Hermes said. “After all, Persephone is her own woman and now that I know she wasn’t taken - ”

Hades’ eyes narrowed and Hermes longed to tear out his own tongue. “ _Taken_.”

“Hades,” Persephone warned, her voice quiet.

“We didn’t know what happened on Olympus,” Hermes tried to explain. “A missing goddess is no small matter. And no one came forth with information so - ”

“So you assumed the worst. Of course.”

Somehow it was worse to hear the accusation come from Hades’ icy tone rather than Persephone’s own. He bristled before he could stop himself, gritting his teeth hard. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Of course not.” Hades seemed to melt before his eyes, blended with the darkness of the garden around them, and in two blinks he was standing a foot in front of Hermes, blocking his way to Persephone who muttered something else he couldn’t make out under her breath. Hermes could feel the invisible fingers of death clawing at his robes, tingling against his immortal flesh, not quite able to penetrate aside from granting him another bout of chills. Those eyes, which had seemed so dark from far away, glittered a pale, dangerous blue before him. “What else could have happened to your dear Persephone, I wonder? If not for the big bad Hades.”

Hermes snorted. “I’d hardly call you _big_ or _bad_.”

 _Why_ had he said that?

Hades paused and a strange look passed over his face - only for a moment, too quick to name - but it almost looked like mirth. He swore Persephone stifled a snort of her own.

“But, ah,” Hermes cleared his throat, “to be fair, that idea was not mine. I mean, making a deal with Persephone to let her rest for a while away from the heat of summer on Earth makes a _lot_ more sense than a simple kidnapping or lust or - not that those couldn’t be reasons, but it really doesn’t make sense otherwise! Unless you were that lonely, I suppose, but…” Persephone laughed outright at this and he had to wince.

Not talking was good. He ought to stick to that.

Hades’ eyebrows rose, but he didn’t seem as offended as Hermes feared. “If I were ‘that lonely’, kidnapping my own sister would hardly be the first priority on my to-do list.”

Sister?

 _Sister_. _Oh._

“Oh,” Hermes said, positive his sheepishness was written in bold print across his forehead. He ought to have made the connection, honestly, though he’d long since given up on untangling the family trees in Olympus. “That does explain why she went to you for help, I suppose.”

Persephone laughed once more, shaking her head. “Does it now?”

“A little bit.”

“Knew you’d catch on.” The jab was friendlier than she’d sounded since he arrived and he tried not to smile.

“Didn’t mean to disappoint you,” Hades said, and though he still seemed amused, the frigid tone had returned. “That all Zeus wanted to know, or did he send you to perform an actual kidnapping?”

Hermes sighed and leaned against his caduceus. “He didn’t tell me to, _no_. And I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Well, now I’m almost offended,” Persephone teased. “ _Someone’s_ got to have the guts to kidnap me.”

“He did ask me to bring you back home safely, however.”

The brief bud of warmth in the pit of his stomach shriveled and died under Persephone and Hades’ darkening stares. Persephone huffed and glanced away, her movements stiff. Neither of them looked stunned.

“Like I said,” Persephone’s voice matched the ice of her brother’s now, “someone better have the guts to go through with that kidnapping, then.”

“No one is getting kidnapped!”

“I’m not leaving, so that’s the only option I see.”

Another sigh escaped Hermes and he closed his eyes tight as he pinched the skin between his brows with two fingers. The chill of the Underworld against his cheeks felt less like a breeze and more like the lingering cold trail of an ice cube traveling across your skin. He held back a shuddering breath as he opened his eyes.

“I can’t go back empty-handed,” he said ruefully. “I’m not going to kidnap someone who doesn’t want to be found, especially when you have an actual reason for running off. But I can’t go back without you, or without any way of knowing when you’ll return.”

“It’s just for a short while,” Persephone argued. “Summer’s ended, so the heat will be letting up soon! I needed a break!” She bit her lower lip. “Besides, no one will miss me until I feel more like myself again.”

“Need I remind you that the harvests are dying?”

“That’s Demeter’s doing,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Mother always was dramatic. I hope that wasn’t him rubbing off on her.”

“She’s _doing_ it because she’s upset you went missing.”

“And now she’ll know where I am!”

Hades made a noise that could’ve been a laugh, but by the time Hermes locked eyes with him, the god of death’s expression had smoothed over. “I believe what the thief is trying to say is that he needs to know what excuse to give dear Zeus.”

He took a moment to process the declaration, a little too focused on the _thief_ portion of that sentence. Hermes knew he was a thief, he was the _god_ of them, after all, but something about the remark made his stomach twist. “I mean. Yes? Though, I wouldn't call it an excuse. He did seem worried.”

Laughter erupted from both Hades and Persephone, bitter and low as the aftertaste of a sharp wine on the back of your tongue. 

“Sure,” Persephone said, her teeth bared in a poor imitation of a smile - it really resembled a _snarl_ , of all things. "Sure he did. Nothing he hates worse than someone out of line or disobeying him."

Hermes opened his mouth, unsure if he ought to press, but Hades beat him to it as his features grew solemn once more. “Tell Zeus if he cares and worries so, he should take better care of those who run from him. Now, unless you're here to actually enact a kidnapping or war, I'll leave you to it, _messenger_.”

And with that, Death spun on his heel with precision Hermes had to admire, and he and Persephone dissolved into shadow, tendrils of smoke in an airless vacuum that evaporated with Hermes' rapid blinking.

He huffed and glared at the palace ahead of him. It loomed over him, a massive black structure against no horizon, lit by no sun, and yet somehow pulsing with the same foreboding aura the rest of the Underworld thrived upon.

“Well,” Hermes grumbled, “he could've at least said goodbye properly.”

***

He lasted an hour pacing by the same place Hades and Persephone had left him before he caved and stomped off towards the palace. Hermes took care not to trample the shrubbery, certain Persephone wouldn't hesitate to try throttling him with her roses if he stepped off the garden path. Besides, while most of the shrubbery deadened and browned beyond respite, there were indeed deep red roses hidden amidst the wild hedges, poking their petals free and gasping for air from their strange prisons. Rather fitting given the atmosphere.

He didn't expect to find fruit trees as well as he neared the palace; sparse and small lemon trees scattered without much organization across the dead grass, an apple orchard that ran the far left perimeter of the grounds, and at least a dozen pomegranate trees clustered by the entrance. Intrigued and baffled, Hermes drew closer, running a finger over one of the hanging pomegranates. Somehow the pomegranate was ripe, as were the other fruit trees, its juice a brilliant crimson against the muted tones of gray and black of its surroundings. His fingertips came away stained red even after he plucked one, turning it over in his hand.

Was this Persephone's doing as well? Hermes couldn't deny that the trees and roses and sprouts of flowers were brightening the Underworld, even if they only existed within Hades' garden. She seemed more at peace than ever, perhaps more so than the first time he had met the goddess.

Curiosity nipped with eager fangs so he broke open the pomegranate, grinning lightly to himself at how beautiful the fruit was, seeds winking at him from within. If he were unaware of where he was standing, Hermes might have thought he was in the world above, roaming amongst mortals and spying on their wares and trades, aiding thieves and travelers who prayed to him for their journeys. A pang of something he couldn’t name rattled his insides, jarring enough that he paused, grin faltering as he rode out the aftershocks of the emotion.

Would that have been his life if he were mortal? Endless wandering, thieving and trading, interacting with mortals without care? He rather liked the thought.

Hermes shifted his caduceus to his other hand, ready to fish out the seeds or more of the pomegranate's juice that still stained the pads of his fingers, when Persephone's laugh caused him to still. “You know, he was joking about the whole _god of thieves_ shtick.”

“You seem to make a habit of sneaking up on people,” Hermes shot back, but there was no malice in him. He lowered the pomegranate and spotted her standing tall and proud by the arched entrance to the palace. It wasn't the _main_ entrance where enormous gates guarded the palace from manic spirits and chauvinistic demigods, more like a back entrance tucked away into crumbling vines and bushes. There was something funny about the god of the dead having a side door to his own home. “Perhaps you should take my title.”

“Tempting offer. I think I like my creations, though.” She flashed him a smirk. “Appreciate your kindness.”

“Oh, of course.”

Silence governed them for a few beats, a weighted heartbeat that was neither tense nor pleasant. It simply was.

Persephone's smirk wavered. “You didn't run off.”

“You expected me to?” She didn't answer but her expression spoke volumes. Hermes shrugged, his grip tightening on the pomegranate. “I told you, I can't leave with nothing.”

“He gave you something.”

“If I tell the king of the gods to go fuck himself, essentially, I believe I'm going to get thrown off of Olympus. You’ve heard what happened to Hephaestus, and he was an _infant_.”

Persephone's mouth twitched. “Well, in that case, we can't have that happening.”

Hermes chuckled. “Of course not. What would they do without me?”

She leaned against the obsidian wall, shaking her head at him. With her chin and gaze swiveling upward toward the never-ending gloom above the palace, she shone in the darkness, a flower blooming in the cavernous abyss of Death.

“You shouldn't eat that, by the way,” Persephone told him.

“That?”

“The pomegranate. Or, any of the fruits or foods here, to be honest.” She paused, clearly mulling over how much, or how little, to tell him. “Anyone who consumes the food of the Underworld has to remain.”

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, a full-bellied noise that rose out of him against his will. Hermes almost lifted his pomegranate-juice-stained hand to cover his mouth but thought better of it. “That sounds like a myth.”

“Isn't that what mortals believe we are?” she countered with ease.

“Fair enough.” Hermes glanced at the fruit in his grasp. “Is it true?”

“He said it was. Got all fussy about me accidentally eating a little grape earlier.”

Hades didn't seem like the type to lie to his sister, especially when he had whisked her away from the mortal realm when she asked and appeared content to deal with any consequences. “Pity. They're beautiful.”

Persephone raised an eyebrow. “I suppose so.”

“Do you not care for your own creations?”

“They aren’t _mine_ ,” she said. “They belong to the earth. To life. Springtime just eases their coming into the world.”

Hermes considered this. He’d never thought of the gods as assistants in their own ways. It reminded him eerily of his own duties. “They’re still lovely,” he admitted. He twisted the pomegranate in his grasp and smiled. “You’d never suspect they were deadly.”

“Most people don’t, when it comes to beautiful things.”

Hermes opened his mouth to respond but a thought struck him like lightning against his heels, sharp and earnest. He stared at the pomegranate.

Zeus would be furious either way. Persephone and Hades were correct, he knew they weren’t exaggerating about Zeus’s irritation, his fickle nature when it came to getting what he wanted. At times, Hermes wondered if Zeus truly wanted anything at all or if the ability to be able to throw a lightning bolt or sleep with the first nymph or mortal he saw was enough to sate him for an hour at most. Persephone’s disappearance was an unusual case, but that too could be tided over.

Perhaps.

The longer he studied the pomegranate, the more reckless the idea born in his mind sounded.

He really did like reckless ideas, though. It had been a long time since he’d participated in carrying out any.

“I can’t tell him nothing,” Hermes said. He looked up from the fruit and met Persephone’s gaze head-on. “There _will_ be consequences if I do nothing at all. He’ll wage war against Hades if I refuse.”

“Let him try.” The low tones of Hades’ voice drifted over Hermes’ shoulder and he turned to greet it. The blue of those piercing eyes shone in the shadowed cluster that made up the shifting form of the god of the dead, wavering over frost and the rest of the garden in clouds of dark smoke. He didn’t know how long Hades had stood there, watching and waiting, but for the first time, Hermes found he didn’t mind.

“You do not care about the consequences.”

“I have been enduring them for longer than you have been alive.” Again with the bittersweet flavor tinting his words, but Hades didn’t duck his head or shy away. “I have a feeling my sister has the same resignation, if you are about to ask.”

“I was,” Hermes admitted. “But I think I knew that already.”

Persephone hummed and he heard her stepping closer, leaves crunching in the quiet air, or lack thereof, of the Underworld. “Then why do you ask at all?”

“Because I never said I was going to Olympus with nothing to tell them.” Emboldened, he raised the pomegranate for Hades to see. “How does it work?”

Something flickered across Hades’ features that he swore mimicked surprise. The thought made Hermes suck in a small breath, cool and unnecessary as it was for immortals in a place like this.

“It depends on the fruit. For the pomegranate, each seed,” Hades murmured, “represents a month. A month of Death. If all are eaten, one must stay.”

“And if all are not?” Hermes pressed.

“I cannot ask this of her,” Hades hissed, quieter than need be, and Hermes suddenly recognized the emotion for what it was. Not surprise, but _fear_. “She cannot stay here forever.”

“I think that is up to her to decide.”

“She will wither her after too long. Spring - ”

“Needs me,” Persephone cut in. Her gaze was fixed on the pomegranate, standing inches behind Hermes’ shoulder. He could smell the musk of earth on her at this distance, faint after nearly a week away from the surface, but still strong enough to linger on her skin. He thought he caught a hint of lavender too, of cherry blossoms, a fragrance that soothed a nonexistent ache in his immortal bones.

She reached out, not asking, not demanding, simply waiting. Hermes glanced at Hades who looked ready to snatch the fruit at a moment’s notice, but when the god did nothing to stop him, he placed the pomegranate in her palm. She turned it over, much like Hermes had minutes before, her eyes filled with a new light, a curiosity he knew too well.

“He is right,” she said, her voice soft but unyielding. “Staying too long would wreak havoc on mortals and their crops, more than Mother has already done. Much as I hate to be proven wrong, they do need me. But, they do not need me all year round.”

“Persephone,” Hades began.

“Do I have your permission to stay?” she asked him. When he remained silent, her eyes shot to Hades, impenetrable as diamonds, brighter than the gold of her robes. “Brother. Do I have your permission?”

Hades did not move, but Hermes watched his throat work carefully, a muscle in his jaw twitching. The shadows of his power solidified slowly, reassembling itself into the mortal form he had taken earlier. He had never thought of Hades as vulnerable, but staring at the trepidation in every shift and pulse of his face and limbs made Hermes wonder how none of the gods noticed this glimmer of warmth in Death, the hints at the same fondness the Olympians prided themselves on wielding for mortals despite all humanity’s flaws and mistakes.

Hermes felt ashamed to not have spied it himself until now.

“You have always had it,” Hades told her, infallibly candid. She blinked hard in the wake of his words, letting them sink in and mingle with the frost dotting the grass of the garden.

“How long would I need?” She addressed Hermes now, though her gaze did not falter from Hades’s stare.

“Six months at most. Spring and summer could not thrive without you.”

She nodded. “Tell them all I chose this, will you? That I will answer to whatever rage they still feel in six months' time.”

“You think they will still be furious by then?” Hermes asked.

Persephone faced him and he almost envied the light of mischief in her eyes, the same he had seen at that feast ages ago. He truly had missed it. 

“I imagine they will be _boiling_ with it,” she corrected him, and in anticipation of losing her nerve, or someone else losing it for her, the goddess of spring split open the pomegranate in her hands and plucked out six seeds.

The stories will not tell you so, but Persephone swallowed them whole without complaint, without remorse, with a pomegranate-red smile painted on her lips as both Hermes and Hades stood by and said nothing.

And thus, in an act of spite and at the price of exhilarating freedom, the seasons were born.

***

Hermes got out two full sentences of his explanation, the speech he had rehearsed all the way from the Underworld under his shaking breath, before Zeus erupted in a thunderstorm so fierce and violent it shook the very floors and halls of Olympus for a full week. He raved about banishment, insubordination, stripping of immortality, manipulation, and betrayal of all the gods stood for, and could not be calmed for anything.

Truth be told, Hermes did not even attempt to calm him. He stood by and watched Demeter wail, watched Athena attempt easing her father’s mind and worries, watched Ares boast about charging down into the Underworld and dueling Hades for Persephone’s hand.

He stood at the far end of the hall with Artemis, her dusky skin glowing in the torchlight, irises bright in her dark braids, and knew she could read the satisfaction on his features better than anyone. Still, neither of them spoke.

He got the sense he did not need to. Any questions could be answered out of sight, out of range of Zeus’s anger.

In the end, it was Hera, unsurprisingly, who braved the storms of her husband and soothed him with reminders of Persephone’s time limit, of the six months until she would return to the mortal world and Olympus to bring spring. He seethed and spat insults, but gray eyes darted to the floor, pensive in a manner Hermes didn’t appreciate. And the king of the gods’ fury abated, little by little. 

Hermes had to embark on several belittling errands after that, a thinly veiled punishment for playing his role as the harbinger of bad news, but he was used to such trivial matters. He didn’t mind keeping quiet.

After all, he had delivered worse messages for the gods before, and he would for all of eternity. This too would pass.

“Was it worth it?” Artemis asked him softly, later when they roamed through a forest somewhere in the mortal realm. The trees around them were barren, shivering in the breeze, skeletal branches that reminded him of the dead reaching for salvation with smokey tendrils in the Underworld. He watched Artemis hunt for a boar, though it could hardly be called a hunt when most animals had begun fleeing or had already fled for shelter or warmer climates.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he deflected. He kept his gaze on the crinkled brown leaves on the forest floor.

“ _Hermes_.”

Too demanding for her own good. He didn’t truly mind, and she knew it, but he made a show of sighing, leaning back against an oak tree. They hadn’t grown with one another, close as her and her twin Apollo, without knowing the other’s soul inside and out.

“Was it worth it?” Artemis repeated. Her words were nearly inaudible, yet they echoed in the silent forest. The earth mourned spring, mourned sunshine and flowers and everything it had deemed paradise for the living. All while Persephone rested and waited below, breathed a little easier.

The living created wastelands of their own, perhaps more than the dead did, he mused to himself and for some reason, the idea made him fight a smile. Imagining the look on Hades’s face as he contemplated the thought made it all the more difficult.

Hermes bent over and picked up a leaf from the dirt, twirling the stem between nimble fingers and ignoring the burn of Artemis’ gaze on the side of his face.

“Yes,” he confessed. But he had a feeling she already knew that too.

***

He never saw Hades on his trips to the Underworld these days. His absence saddened Hermes more than he thought it would.

It also incensed him, especially when he swore he felt eyes on the back of his head, searing his mortal form like a brand. But whenever he turned, there were only lost souls, the dead, and the barren, dark underground of the Underworld.

It took less than three weeks since Persephone swallowed the seeds for Hermes’ patience to run dry and he decided to linger during his next trip, after he guided his batch of souls to their new home. The longest he had stayed prior was the day he came for Persephone and left empty-handed, and somehow he felt more awkward and out of place standing around than he had the last time. The dead passed through him like he was invisible but he remained motionless, aside from his head swiveling in every direction at the slightest sign of movement.

There really was nothing here, nothing but darkness and death. The dead “lived” and prospered in their proper homes, in Elysium and Asphodel and beyond, but their residences past the endless fields were almost as distant as the palace of Hades. The faint sounds of music could be heard if he strained his ears, but he couldn’t make out what was playing. It sounded lively, whatever it was.

As lively as the dead could be, that is.

A shout rang out in the darkness and though the dead did not stir, Hermes’ head snapped towards the noise, eyes wide. For a few moments, he thought he made up the shout and waited, shuffling his feet in place. Maybe he was hearing things after all this time.

Then it came again, louder now, and Hermes waited no longer. He picked up his pace, flitting through the crowds of souls, waving his caduceus before him to clear the haze of white smoke. He swore he saw a large shape in the darkness up ahead, towering over the fields and blurring in the fog.

It had been years, decades even, since the last demigods wandered into the Underworld. Some looked forward to challenging Hades, some attempted stealing away with the souls of their loved ones. Some simply wanted to prove they could brave and survive the land of the dead. Hermes hadn’t seen any in quite some time, but he couldn’t picture any other reason for such an enormous -

 _Oh_ , he thought, and it froze him to the earth as the weight of the realization struck him. Suddenly, the figure in the fog became familiar and he waved the caduceus one last time to dismiss the rest of the fog, shooing aside the dead.

A beast the size of the grand hall of Mount Olympus, midnight black and panting, flopped over onto its side, three heads twisting and turning and sniffing at the shadows and a much smaller figure by its wiggling left paw. The tail spanned the length of two mortal homes and every time it beat against the earth, spirits jumped and started in their lackadaisical paths.

Hermes had never seen Cerberus in person before, though he had heard stories from the gods about the gatekeeping beast of the Underworld. If he was honest, he had begun to believe Cerberus was a fabrication created to frighten any gullible demigods. If they weren’t scared out of their minds by Hades himself already.

He hadn’t anticipated Cerberus looking so...soft.

Or rather endearing.

Persephone laughed, and he recognized it as the “shout” he’d heard earlier, open and delighted in its own amusement. She crouched beside Cerberus’ whimpering heads and scratched them all, slowly falling into a kneeling position instead when they refused to let her stand. Daffodils bloomed tentatively around her feet, tiny yellow splotches against dead grass that yearned to join the party and see what all the fuss was about.

She looked even brighter than she had weeks ago, her skin flushed with a golden hue despite the chill of the Underworld. The plants and flowers in the dirt around her sprouted faster than they had before.

“He won’t bite,” she called back. Hermes immediately ducked his head even though he knew she couldn’t see him, his cheeks burning. “He’s a sweetheart deep down. Bark worse than his bite, etc., etc.”

“This a spiel you’ve heard before?” He hesitated but closing the distance wasn’t as terrifying a feat as he pictured. Hermes eyed Cerberus as two heads closed their eyes, panting and drooling in the ecstasy of a particularly good scratch. The remaining head eyed him, waiting its turn for the inevitable petting.

“I think my brother forgets I’ve met many animals before I came here,” Persephone said, her tone teasing as she remained facing the enormous dog heads. “I may not be Artemis, but I know how to handle a puppy in need of some love. You ever pet a dog, god of thieves?”

He ignored the blatant poke at his title and crouched beside her, gripping his caduceus as the head that hadn’t been scratched yet drew nearer. It sniffed him warily, eyes half-lidded, but he must have passed some sort of test because it took half a minute before the palm of his hand was headbutted and whimpered against. Hermes smiled to himself.

“I like dogs,” he replied, at last, moving his hand to the dog head’s chin to give a good, hearty scratch there. “Artemis sometimes brings hunting dogs with her. I see them on occasion when I visit.”

“You two are rather close.” It was an observation, not the usual knowing statement from smirking lips.

“We are,” Hermes conceded. “She and I, as well as her brother Apollo, all grew up together. I care very much for them.”

“Good.” When he glanced at her, a little stunned by her candor, Persephone shook her head with a wide smile. “Bonds tend to ebb and flow, have you ever noticed that? What was once a good relationship turns sour due to romantic inclinations, a spurned lover, a war over a petty dispute. I always envied how close you and Artemis remained, even with Apollo holding her attention every now and then.”

It was his turn to laugh now, a startled burst that jolted Cerberus, made the poor beast whine. “You envied us?”

Persephone’s smile faded. Her stare fell to Cerberus, her grip on the soft dark fur on the nearest head tightening for a split-second. If it hurt Cerberus, he gave no indication, still headbutting their hands for all the pets and scratches they could give.

“Hades and I…” She paused. All the delight in her had been replaced by something contemplative, uncertain. “We were not always close. I did not understand why he had been exiled to the Underworld, did not know why my father insisted that I forget he existed.” She bit her lip. “You cannot simply forget death exists, though. And I was a naïve young godling.”

“What did you do?”

“What else? I went to Hades.”

Hermes couldn’t help but gape. “Just like that?”

The corners of her mouth twisted. “Just like that. Of course, I wasn’t allowed out of my mother’s sight for almost three decades after that, but it was worth it. I had at least _tried_ where no one else had.” Persephone faced him and that familiar ice that reminded him so much of her brother glinted behind her eyes. He didn’t dare look away. “Do you know how long it had been since he talked to a god?”

“Years?”

“Almost a century.” Her lip trembled but he didn’t mistake it for oncoming tears. Not when all he saw gazing back at him was determination, the same determination that had brought her here in the first place, that had driven her to swallow six pomegranate seeds of her own making. “The only exceptions were his occasional visits to Hephaestus for trade. And you.”

 _That_ caught him off-guard. Hermes’ hand froze on Cerberus’ chin. “Me?”

“You always visit. Every day.” She gestured around them to the white trails of smoke and vapor, souls traveling at a tortoise’s pace to their destinations. “You bring the dead home.”

“Yes, but…” Hermes cleared his throat, straightening. “We’ve never spoken. Properly, that is. Since, uh, the other day.”

Persephone raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“We haven’t! Or, if we did… I don’t remember it.” That hurt worse, the idea that they _had_ had a conversation and Hermes didn’t recall a lick of it. He turned away, staring at his pale hand in Cerberus’ fur as the dog continued to nudge him with growing impatience.

“He didn’t specify,” Persephone said. Her voice was unusually cautious, almost timid. “He only mentioned that you were one of the few gods he saw.”

“Recently?”

“Ever.”

Hermes exhaled, a shaky breath that he couldn’t control. He didn’t know why this revelation made his chest ache, made him _angry_ for all the gods who’d ignored Hades, for Hades who hadn’t said a thing to him since he began guiding souls to the Underworld. Had he come off as unapproachable? Did he believe Hermes was truly only doing his duty and acting as a messenger for the gods?

The part he didn’t want to voice, the part he was certain Artemis and Apollo only knew though he’d never spoken it aloud, was that while his trips to the Underworld were morbid, often sorrowful, he enjoyed leading souls here. He liked knowing he was the one who got to take them home, even if they protested and moaned and wept and raged against the Fates and time itself. Sure, death wasn’t kind or fair, but it seemed like a decent place to him to live out the rest of your days when your time was up. Unless you deserved the pits of Tartarus and eternal punishment, of course.

He didn’t feel like an errand boy when he began his path every day to the familiar calling of the dead, when he gently took their hands and guided them below.

“I saw him most days,” Hermes blurted out, afraid the moment the words left his lips that he would be caught red-handed, would be found guilty for some offense that had no name. “When I came here, I mean. He’d stand a good distance away, just watching me lead spirits to their lines, bid them goodbye.”

“He would?” It sounded more like a prompt than a real question as if Persephone could tell he was nervous. He suddenly felt more grateful for her than he had in all his life.

“He would,” he confirmed. “Some days I thought I imagined him, especially when I first started delivering the dead to his doorstep.” Hermes snorted at the unintentional word choice. “He never spoke to me, as far as I remember. He liked watching, though. Sometimes he would smirk when I made eye contact, when I stared for too long, as if daring me to say something, tell him off for just standing still while a spirit scolded me for not letting her say goodbye to her grandson or I tried to quiet a young ghost. He never came over, never helped. It was infuriating for the first few times.”

“That sounds like him.”

Hermes glanced at Persephone and her small smile encouraged one to bloom at the edges of his own mouth. “Yes. But, it became routine. I don’t think he meant anything by it. Maybe he wanted to watch and that was it.”

“I know he didn’t act particularly _warm_ the other day,” Persephone said, and here her brow furrowed though her smile didn’t vanish this time, “but he does admire you.”

Hermes shook his head. “You don’t need to assure me of anything.”

“I’m not. You should see the way he looks at you.”

Her bluntness knocked something loose in his chest, soothing and igniting an entirely different ache in his bones. He didn’t quite believe it, didn’t know what exactly she _meant_ by all this talk of admiration and _looking_ , but he had a feeling the goddess wouldn’t lie to him.

And that was saying something, as an expert in the art of trickery and lies.

“When I said you ought to check out the rest of the Underworld, I didn’t mean distract Cerberus and the messenger of the gods while you were at it,” came a voice somewhere behind them. Hermes couldn’t quite stifle his smile when he heard Persephone snicker under her breath.

Still, he did feel bad about allowing himself to be swept up in other conversations outside of his duties. He gave Cerberus another firm scratch and stood, turning to face Hades. Death was fully formed today, no trace of the dark smoke that trailed his robes or footsteps, though his lower half was a little hazy to Hermes’ eyes.

Not that he was looking for very long at said lower half. Of course not.

Hades wasn’t watching Persephone; he was watching Hermes now, alert but almost confused. Hermes didn’t say anything and held his gaze, allowing Hades to study him for whatever he was searching for.

“I’m not distracting or harassing anyone,” Persephone told Hades, and she sounded rather smug. He couldn’t tell why, even when he glanced her way out of the corner of his eye. She kept looking between the two of them, petting Cerberus with a smirk so similar to Hades’ that he was hit by a wave of deja vu. “Hermes came rather willingly. As did Cerberus. He’s a very good boy.”

“Leave the guard dog of hell alone, Persephone.” This appeared to be a conversation they had had many times by the note of exhaustion in Hades’ voice.

“I don’t think I will,” she shot back, smirk turning mean. A couple of flowers unfurled on their own in her hair, petals elongating, vibrant in their rainbow of colors against her dark curls.

“Even guard dogs deserve a break every now and then,” Hermes chimed in. He both regretted speaking and thrilled in the abruptness with which Hades turned his attention back to him. The foreboding chill he expected to wash over him never came. Had he ever thought of Hades as frightening? Truly?

“I’m sure Zeus will be more than pleased with your progress for the day.”

The sneered statement only stung a little. He smiled wider, tilting his head at Hades. “Well, what Zeus doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Persephone’s laugh followed his swift departure from the Underworld, trailing after him like a comet’s tail as he flew towards the stars, but it was the ghost of a surprised smile on Hades’ lips that stuck with him long after.

***

After that, Hermes noticed a familiar shadow lingering, dogging his footsteps on the journey down to the Underworld, and if he turned his head just so, he caught a glimpse at an age-old challenge, daring him to question Death.

Hermes never questioned Death, but he did laugh and happily let him tag along, talking to both the dead and Death himself for the rest of the road to hell.

***

It became a new routine for Hermes as one month, then two, then a whole brutal winter blew by with a snowstorm and mortals struggling to prepare for harvest. Instead of running back to the surface, he learned to pretend to be busy for a moment or two longer, where inevitably Persephone or Hades would find him, the former dragging him either to greet Cerberus or see the newest blossoms in the garden of the dead. He had to admit, he knew nothing of flowers or harvest, but the garden of Hades (and now Persephone) was a sight that could rival Olympus’ own magnificent hedges and gardens. Most of the deadened grass had sprouted anew over the course of the six months, a dark green pulsing against black soil and remaining for as long as Persephone attended and watched over it.

The pomegranate trees were her favorite, however, as well as Hermes’. Persephone often tugged him flat on his back underneath it, urging him to tell her of the mortal world, of the plights and mischief about on Olympus that he or other deities had cooked up. He learned to entertain her with gossip first before revealing the bleaker news, dancing around the subject of Demeter and Zeus, though Demeter had begun taking her daughter’s absence better than Zeus. He thought Demeter understood Persephone had made the best decision in the end.

Whether Zeus would understand that was another matter, one he didn’t like to think about.

His favorite visits, though, every now and then, were incited by none other than Hades. It wasn’t a blatant invitation, no tugging or touch involved at all, but Hermes found if he hovered long enough, Hades would wait for him, would find him and cock an eyebrow in askance. Hermes had no need to speak, only smile and follow wherever he led. If the dead found it odd for their king to spend time with Hermes and stroll through their uneven ranks, they whispered nothing of it.

 _Tell me about the world,_ Hades would murmur. _Tell me about the winter raging aboveground._

 _Tell me about life,_ Hades would murmur, and Hermes gladly answered in all detail he struggled to give Persephone.

Hades did not care for tales of gossip or the gods’ personal struggles, for Zeus’ tantrums and Aphrodite’s latest beau. He did not wish to hear of how Demeter missed Persephone, of Artemis’ hunt a week prior, of Apollo’s newest ear-ache-inducing sonnet. He cared for the lives of the dead and living, to know how the winter had affected famine and poverty and mortals above.

Hermes had pictured Hades as cold, uncaring in the face of sorrow, and to an outside perspective, perhaps that was how he appeared. But the closer Hermes observed Hades, the more stories he told, he understood that he was wrong. Granted, Hades was no bleeding heart enthralled with protecting humanity.

But the understanding came in the form of little things. The downturn of Hades’ impassive expression when Hermes remarked on the effects of famine, of the expected villages to starve if they weren’t to make it before the snow hit. The harrumph he gave when Zeus’ latest exploits took a turn for the worst and set forth another war between neighboring kingdoms. The way Hades grew quiet as soon as the topic of humanity’s most intriguing innovations yet were brought up, of evolving inventions Hades would never see firsthand.

There was a mournful vindication in being right all along. Hades _was_ lonely, though he’d never admit it.

That wasn’t a bad thing, of course. Solitude suited Hermes just fine. He had what friends and companions he desired, and he didn’t want for anything more. He got to travel the world, see new places, meet new people whenever he got tired of talking to himself or the dead.

But there was a stark difference between loneliness and solitude.

Loneliness enveloped Hades in a shroud. 

He had a feeling it had become all Hades knew for so long, that he couldn’t break the habit, couldn’t weasel his way out of the last vestiges of solitude. He shrugged aside offers to see the mortal world, created miniature flurries of frost at the very thought of joining Persephone in exploring a village during summer for an afternoon. 

Persephone griped and grew irritable every time they fought about his self-imposed seclusion, arguing that there was no need to hole himself up in his palace when Zeus only told Hades where to govern and rule. Hermes didn’t like to step between them often, but he found himself being turned to for support from Persephone and occasionally Hades on the matter.

Which was especially difficult when yes, he thought the Underworld needed looking after and there was no one better to take charge of it - but he also agreed that Hades ought to at least spend a _day_ in the mortal world. Hermes was as determined as Persephone to get Hades to change his mind, but Hades was more obstinate than them both combined. You couldn’t change Death’s ways without trying something new.

That was the excuse Hermes gave when he slipped trinkets into the folds of Hades’ shadows, that is. Little trinkets, barely missable by mortals - compasses from voyages on expeditions and warships, a pendant from a widow to her deceased husband, a shard of colored glass from a project given up on. Not even Death could spy the god of thieves’ quick fingers in motion. He certainly caught the aftermath, though, and the first couple of times earned Hermes some wry, unamused looks.

“They will miss these,” Hades said dryly. He pinched harder on the nickel-sized diamond ring between his index finger and thumb. The diamond glittered in the darkness, defying all absence of light in the Underworld’s eternal twilight.

“They won’t,” Hermes countered. “Their owners are gone. Dead. Or, they don’t need them any longer.”

“Everyone needs their little toys.” There was a strange lilt to his voice, almost curious. “Humans are in constant need for entertainment and busy work, so I hear.”

Hermes rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He grew very close to whacking himself accidentally in the face with his caduceus. “Just because Hephaestus isn’t one for socializing either doesn’t mean he’s right. And these aren’t toys. They’re art, inventions, symbols. Kind of like the symbols we use for sacred animals.”

“Those are nothing alike,” Hades told him, but he did glance at the ring. Hermes tried not to let on how flustered it made him. It had been a mistake to bring that one in particular, he understood that now. He did not tell Hades that it had belonged to a married couple, to a man who followed his lover into the sea when the tides pulled them adrift, starving and unable to reach the shore.

Mostly because it was a tragic, horribly morbid tale and while Hades would find it fascinating, there really was no point in explaining why Hermes had saved the ring. None at all.

Hades never complained or said a single word against the trinkets after that day, though.

Unfortunately, Hermes also hadn’t planned for how the warmth of Hades’ company would make _him_ feel. And it _was_ warmth that greeted him amidst a façade of cool greetings and quiet conversations. Ever since Persephone mentioned the way Hades looked at him, whatever that had meant, he found he couldn’t focus on anything else, his eyes finding Hades’ gaze fixed upon him no matter the conversation topic. If he wasn’t watching Hermes, the god of the dead was staring off into the distance, eyeing something a lone spirit was doing or Persephone as she gave Cerberus his daily scritches behind the ears. But eighty percent of the time, he gave Hermes his undivided attention, good or bad, angry or simply contemplative.

He truly didn’t know what to make of it. Persephone made it sound like Hades felt _something_ , maybe even thought more of Hermes than other gods, but Hermes just saw observant eyes, a thoughtful gaze. He was attentive, he told Artemis once when she asked him point-blank about his frequent visits to the Underworld, and there was nothing wrong than an attentive listener. Hermes knew he tended to ramble, especially when nervous, and it wasn’t Hades’ fault for wanting to listen.

Both Artemis and Persephone gave him a capital L _Look_ when he brought that explanation forth and just shook their heads. He thought it was sound reasoning to his own ears, though.

But Hades couldn’t know Hermes enjoyed his visits and conversations in the Underworld more than anything else. He couldn’t know that the highlights of Hermes’ day came when he sparked a laugh out of Hades, a low chuckle that rose unbidden and uncontrolled from deep in his chest. Hades was the only person aside from Artemis who could rein Hermes in, slow him down for more than a spare moment to breathe, take in his surroundings, ease his swift pace for something worth admiring.

Admiration. He needed to tell Persephone off for planting _that_ seedling in his brain as well, an idea that continued to grow and sprout no matter how many times he whacked away at the branches and leaves.

If Hades didn’t admire him, Hermes certainly knew _he_ admired Hades. It wasn’t the type of admiration that Artemis conjured when she concentrated on her hunt or Persephone’s weaving of flowers in her hair, her fingers pressed into the dead earth as she willed life into the death that permeated throughout the Underworld. This admiration spawned from a simple glance, from a smirk, from the quiet swish of dark robes, from a genuine smile left unchecked.

It came from a seedling he was beginning to realize could become _more_ and Hermes had never planned for any of it. He was used to taking, delivering, never receiving. The only ones who had ever _given_ Hermes anything without wanting in return were Artemis, Apollo on occasion, and Persephone.

He didn’t doubt Hades’ ability to care, but he didn’t think it was possible for Death to care enough about a thief to give him anything voluntarily, and not without a price. The number of times Hades brought up Hermes’ titles, his skills in theft, his travels, his jack-of-all-trades tales that had spread amongst both gods and mortals…

Well, it was clear Hades cared more about losing something to Hermes than giving anything out for free.

And that was fine. Perfect. Unimaginably so.

Hermes was used to solitude too. He had a new routine, new friends, new conversations every day. He had everything he needed. What could Death have that he wanted?

But routines come to a screeching halt, and six months brought him to the Underworld where he was nearly barreled over by Persephone, her skin pallid and dotted with sweat, eyes wide. He had to detach a couple of murmuring spirits from him and direct them in the direction of Elysium hurriedly before he could focus on her fingers gripping his shoulders, her hushed words.

“It’s time,” she breathed, voice trembling. “I - I know. I feel it. It’s time, Hermes.”

She didn’t need to explain. Hermes didn’t need to spy Hades several feet away, expression stony, a wall of bleak comprehension and feigned indifference meeting Hermes’ gaze.

Still, his stomach twisted as he nodded wordlessly, ushering the rest of the dead past him. Numbness coated his insides as he watched Persephone turn to her brother, facing Hades and standing tall on her own terms even as the trembling in her body worsened. She pressed a kiss, light as air, to Hades’ forehead, and the god of death kept his eyes open the whole time. He didn’t blink as Persephone drew back, giving her a nod and a soft goodbye that Hermes didn’t hear, that Hermes knew he wasn’t meant to understand.

Hermes did not stay that afternoon, did not do more than let Persephone say goodbye to the Underworld for six months, to Cerberus and the spirits and Hades before he scooped her into his arms and ran on the breeze towards the surface world, towards life. He did not linger when Demeter sprang down from Olympus to sweep Persephone into an embrace, did not watch as flowers bloomed and the mortal world heaved a sigh of overwhelming relief and contentment.

He only stayed to see that Zeus greeted her with a calm disposition and did not touch her as she stood apart from her father, her features mimicking the same stone that Hades wore to distance himself down below.

Then Hermes flew back to his duties with resolve.

***

“What are you doing here?” They were the first words that met Hermes as he entered the Underworld, a new group of souls clutching his hands for dear life (pun unintended). He did not need to look to tell Hades was beside him, closer than perhaps he had ever been before.

He had not anticipated the scent of Death - not the messy kind, the one that wrought tragedy and grief - to smell like a wintergreen forest, sharp and fresh, frigid to the senses. He realized Hades smelled the same as the chill of the Underworld, nestling a path in his immortal ichor and bones, meant to kill but never succeeding.

The recognition gave him strength to respond without looking at Hades, pulling the dead before him. A few looked around in glassy-eyed wonder, or perhaps that came from the tears they had shed on their way down. 

“I have a job to do,” Hermes said. “I’m a guide.”

 _I won’t leave you alone again,_ he did not say. He wondered if Hades heard him regardless, if that was why the air thickened, why the last traces of Persephone’s greenery and garden shriveled and died under new layers of frost.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Why not?”

“Souls found their way to the Underworld before you, god of travelers. They shall find their way without you.”

Hermes did not meet his eyes, did not turn. His heart seized in his chest and he watched a mother guide her daughter into the crowds of spirits.

“I know,” he said. “But I like guiding them. I like it here.”

 _I like you, king of the Underworld,_ he did not say. It sounded trivial, childish on his tongue, so he swallowed it whole like Persephone’s pomegranate seeds.

He did not anticipate Hades laughing. It was the same bitter sound that resonated in the Underworld the day Hermes had come to take Persephone away the first time. He found he loathed that sound, the hollowness of it. _This_ , he understood now, _this is the hollowness of Death._

“You don’t need to lie,” Hades sneered. “If it would put your mind at ease, I assume she’s fine up there. Persephone has been alone, on her own, for a long time. She’ll be back soon. I know you care for her, but she _can_ take care of herself. She’s technically queen of the Underworld, after all.”

Hermes faced him at last, not tracking the movements of the last ghosts in his party as they disappeared into clouds of snow-white mist, finally at peace. It had been seven hours since he dropped Persephone off in the mortal world, since Hades and Persephone parted ways for the time being, and he saw the fatigue on Hades’ brow already. Purple shadows blinked at him beneath blue eyes, faint but present nonetheless.

Of course, he had to return. Hermes would always return, always be there to guide souls to their final destination, always there to greet you on your journey home. That Hades had imagined he would not return was a slap to the face.

That he imagined Hermes would not _want_ to return? That was a sensation akin to his caduceus skewering his own heart.

“I know she can,” Hermes informed Hades, softer than he’d intended, but not patronizing. “She is more capable and wily than either of us. And I know you can too, that you are alone and have been for a long while. I have been, too.” He lowered his caduceus, let it fall but not slip from his grasp, snakes tangled and hissing alongside the beat of his frantic heart.

“I know I do not need to come,” Hermes continued. “But I haven’t been knocking on Death’s door for Persephone.”

Death froze in his tracks, silent. Neither of them moved, dared breathe. Time could have stood still and Zeus could have struck them down where they stood.

They did not move.

“Why?” It came out a whisper. Hermes shrugged and smiled, sheepish in the face of his own candid admission.

“Why does anyone court Death?” he countered.

Death’s mouth twitched. “Courting, hmm.”

“Something like that.”

“Well,” Hades said, his drawl slow, prolonged, “I did tell my sister you were going to be the death of me.”

Hermes laughed and his ichor buzzed with the warmth of the slight smile brought to Hades’ face. “You’ll never run out of puns with that kind of attitude.”

“Maybe not.” Hades studied him with unabashed interest, eyes flitting over his face. Always searching, searching for something.

Perhaps this time he found what he was looking for because his smile grew. Just a little.

“No pomegranates for the road?”

Hermes held back another laugh and shook his head. He stepped forward, closing the distance remaining, what little there was, between them. He breathed in the scent of Death.

“Tempting as that sounds, I’ve always liked wandering.” He watched Hades’ expression twitch again, though he was unclear whether this was a good sign. “Though, I’ve always liked the Underworld as well. And I suppose Death isn’t so bad.”

“ _I suppose_ ,” Hades repeated, clearly mocking him, but neither of them minded. He looked both hesitant and satisfied, a look Hermes had never seen before but rather liked. It would likely infuriate him later when Hades used it to his advantage, but for now, he smiled wide, wider than he had in his immortal life.

“She would’ve stayed without it, too,” Hermes murmured, had to get it out before it could leap down his throat and never see the light of day.

Hades’ pale blue eyes were starlight in the depths of hell. There was no need for sky down here, no atmosphere when there were entirely different stars mingling amidst darkness and ghosts of the damned.

“Perhaps,” Hades conceded. He didn’t allow another word, reaching up with careful fingers to cup Hermes’ face and tug him down, skin cool as frozen mountain springs, into a kiss.

Or, he would have made it to tugging him down if Hermes had not met him halfway.

The thief cheated Death of his intentions and stole and received all at once.

And Death welcomed him with open arms.

***

It began, as the stories tell, and always would, with an errand.

It ended with the birth of a cycle, a repetition of seasons that would never cease for all eternity, and a visit home to Death.

Not only for Persephone, though, but a thief, a messenger, a deliverer of the gods who could not be tied down and rode the winds like lightning in a storm, and accepted Death knowing the consequences.

Hermes did not visit the Underworld and lead mortal spirits to Death for nothing in return, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on my DCTV Tumblr @areyouscarletcold or at my (mostly IT-focused these days) twitter [@scarletscold](https://twitter.com/scarletscold). Comments are always appreciated, and have a great day!


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